Sandoval's Redemption
by FinallyAssimilated
Summary: Maybe Sandoval really had a human side...once...only she knew for sure...
1. Default Chapter

Okay, it was just fighting to get the heck out of my head!!  It's been in there for YEARS, but since I started writing fanfic for Stargate, and since this fabulous show was my favorite before Stargate came into my life, and it's on SciFi every day, I just got inspired…

PLEASE, please, please let me know what you think – for E:FC fans, I'm new to fanfic where this show is concerned so I'd really like to know what you think!

If you're reading this because you've liked some of my Stargate fics – THANK YOU!!  J  This has helped me to "swiffer" my brain so I can return to that version of the universe….

Enjoy!

Ronald Sandoval smiled as she entered the café, like she did most mornings.  She was about his age, and a bit rounded, but she kept herself well.  She reminded him of what Siobhan might have looked like, if she had lived; _really_lived, he thought.

He had first seen her speaking to a homeless man as he walked through one of the seedier allies in New Province, where he himself felt safe; since then he had seen her regularly in the streets, and at the health club, and having coffee in the morning, reading the paper.   She seemed to enjoy life for life's sake in a way he had not for many years, not since Dee Dee, really.  He envied her the relaxed comfort with which she seemed to embrace the insane, fractured world around her.

He'd been watching her for a while, this amazed him; anyone else in this day and age might eventually have felt nervous or suspicious that they were being watched, it seemed that everyone these days had picked some side in some ideological debate that left them vulnerable to dislike by someone, and they all reacted accordingly, looking furtively over their shoulders as if they were about to be attacked.

But she was different; if she knew, she didn't seem to care.  He knew through his connections that she had come up before the Great Collapse, as it had come to be known, taking advantage of distant familial connections to insert herself in the society of New Province.

Sandoval knew, too, that almost everyone she had ever known in the Old Great Nation had either died in the Conflicts or fled to another side of the world, and when her husband had died, another victim of the failed Kriss experiments, she had eventually lost contact with what remained of his family also, even though they were all up here.  She was as alone in this world as he was, and he felt something of an anonymous kinship with her on this level.

Her work was her life, as was his, but her chosen path of assisting the underprivileged of New Province seemed to him much richer than his own line of employment, dutifully catering to the various whims of a powermongering Taelon.  That he had ulterior motives which essentially matched her own was small comfort most days, when Zo'Or's grating voice was viciously dictating to him.

He still held firm to the belief that what he was doing was for the good of the planet, but sometimes it seemed futile; the Taelons almost seemed to be toying with them, like a cat with a mouse that is simply waiting for the pathetic creature to die, watching it desperately try to escape its clutches as it slowly hunkers down and accepts its manifest destiny in the paws of the cat.

He pushed these defeating thoughts aside with an effort; looking up he noticed with the sense of comfort that comes from familiarity that she had been seated at the same small table in the corner.  She liked to watch the world around her, he knew, not to assess it for threats, but to revel in the life force of it, he thought.

She was like a secret that he kept only for himself, the only one he had any more that seemed worth having, the only semblance of a personal life that he felt he could safely engage in, and he had not so much as ever spoken a word to her.  He wasn't sure if it was her attractive red hair or her pretty light eyes that had him so spellbound; maybe it was the way in which she carried herself with such assurance.

But today was going to be the day.  The weather was absolutely perfect for a late June morning, just after sunrise, and he had decided that he would not sit idly by while one more seemingly perfect day passed without at least speaking to her.  He was nervous, and he chided himself at this: Ronald Sandoval, International Security Director and premier Taelon ambassador, nervous about talking to a woman.

He pushed the thought from the forefront of his mind, straightened his shoulders and strode over to the café; his confidence spurred on by the awe and respect that the wait staff gave him as he entered.

From the flurry of activity at the front door, she sensed that he had entered, and smiled.  _About damn time,_she thought to herself; _neither one of us is getting any younger._

"Hello," his smooth, mellifluous voice intoned.  She detected the slightest hint of anxiety underneath the dulcet tones; it charmed her.

She looked up; he was standing right by the table.  Up close, he was better looking than she had thought from afar, with his jet-black hair and equally dark eyes; his dark olive skin was smooth and toned.  He was older than she was, she realized, feeling an odd sense of relief at this; for a change she wouldn't feel like she was robbing the cradle.

"Hello," she replied with a knowing smile; her tone of voice indicating that she'd been expecting someone – him.

He was momentarily taken aback by this, but regained himself quickly, encouraged by the warmth of her genuine smile.  There was nothing sinister or foreboding, no oneupsmanship; she had simply been expecting him.

"Is this seat taken?"

She found herself immensely charmed by the innocuous question with which he opened the conversation.  She smiled at him again. 

"It will be if you want it," she said playfully, pushing it away from the table with her foot, seemingly waving him into it with a small, delicate flourish of her hand. 

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but her confident, playful attitude unnerved him.  He sat down and pulled the chair close to the table.  He was more nervous than he thought he would be.  He looked up and signaled for the waiter, ordering another round of coffees.

"I've seen you around, what do you do?"

She smiled at him.  "Whatever I want, pretty much; not a bad gig if you can get it," she said with a wry grin, a merry look in her eyes.  This was the closest he'd ever been to her; she was even more attractive at this level of proximity than from the distance he normally kept.

She leaned forward on the table now, a mischievous gleam appearing in her light blue-green eyes.  "But you know that," she said, with a sly smile.  It was not the look of an enemy, simply the look of someone who is intrigued at the discovery of a secret, Sandoval surmised.  He smiled somewhat shyly.

"What do you mean, I know that," he said, playfully but not convincingly.

She looked at him, a wise, knowing look.  "You've been watching me for some time; I wondered when you'd finally get around to saying hello," she said in a matter of fact tone of voice.

Sandoval was struck again by the innocence of the words, her lack of suspicion and her keen observation.  He smiled again, the smile of someone who's been caught at something.

"Well, I'm here now," he said with a bit of false bravado, not sure where this was going.

She smiled, sitting back in her chair.  "So you are," she said, sipping from her coffee mug.  "I'm glad you finally decided to stop by," she said seriously.

She looked past him then, another carefree, tender smile crossing her lips at the sight of some children playfully skipping down the street with their mother behind them.  He turned and looked.

"You like children," he said, realizing that this was an unnecessary observation, but at least it was conversational.

A wistful shadow crept onto her face now.  "Yes, I do," she said quietly, looking away.  When she returned her gaze to his face it was with a pained look.  "Never got a chance to have any of my own," she said, her voice masking a sense of loss behind its matter of fact tone.  "Now I just try to tend to those that someone else left behind," she finished.

"That's too bad," he said sincerely.  "I'll bet they would have been beautiful children," he said with a smile.

She smiled back, obviously touched by the compliment.  "What about you?" she asked.

Now it was his turn to look down.  "No, none of my own, either," he said; he was surprised at the note of regret that crept into his voice as the words came out.

The sudden sound of his global broke into the conversation; she did not miss the look of heavy disappointment on his face.

"Duty calls, eh, G-man?" she said in a jovial fashion.

He stopped in his tracks; he hadn't heard that term in years.  It was an ancient one, coming from centuries ago in the Old Great Nation, when spies and others who worked for the government were labeled that:  G-men.

He had heard the term as a very young child; his grandparents used it in reference to his great grandfather.  But how did she know to apply it to him?  He looked at her quizzically.  "How did you know?"

She chuckled, a deep, throaty sound.  "I guessed; you just confirmed it," she said with a superior grin.  "But very few people show up in a suit & tie as often as you do," she said.  "And don't think I haven't noticed how the people here treat you; I get the part about you being some VIP," she said in a matter of fact tone of voice.

_The perfect opportunity has just dropped into your lap, Melissa, use it or lose it.  _She sat up suddenly, another gleam in her eye.  "Why don't you come for dinner some time?" she asked casually.  She smiled that sly smile again.  "I know you know where I live," she said, low in her throat; almost seductively, he thought.

"I'd like that," he said.

"Are you available tomorrow night?"

He hesitated momentarily, taken aback at her bold offer, a current of paranoia zipping quickly through him.  He shook it off.

"As a matter of fact, I am," he heard himself say.

"Wonderful; shall we say 7:30, then?" she asked confidently.

He smiled at her.  "7:30 it is.  See you then."  He gave her another smile as he got up and left the café.  It was only just after 8:00 and it had already been an eventful day.

* * *

  


Sandoval looked through the selection in his cavernous closet.  He started to reach for one of his many Armani suits; remembering her comment about the suit and tie, he reached past it for a more casual camel colored corduroy sport jacket.

Digging in the bottom drawer of his dresser, he pulled out a long forgotten pair of blue jeans, noticing with a sense of nostalgia that they still fit him well.  He found a white collarless dress shirt with dark brown buttons among the oxfords and decided the final combination was a good one.

He'd almost forgotten how this worked, and he felt a certain sense of nervousness.  More than once the thought struck him to just forget it; he could easily blow her off and she would never be the wiser.  But suddenly, he was in front of her door, with one hand raised.

His fear urged him one last time to turn and walk away; another side of him urged his hand forward.  The image of the cat and mouse came back to him, along with the face of Zo'Or; mentally steeling himself, he pushed it aside.  There was still a chance that Earth would win this game, he thought, picturing the mouse springing free of the cat's clawed grasp, a scene he had encountered once back in the islands as a child.  He knocked on the door.

She greeted him in a black fitted tank top, displaying her toned arms and denim shorts; her legs were shapely and well defined.  He knew she was something of an endorphin junkie, working out almost every day and doing a fair bit of hiking and biking in what little wilderness was left around New Province; it was obvious that she kept herself in excellent shape.  A wonderful tangy aroma was wafting into the hallway.

"Hi," he said, smiling at her in a way he hadn't smiled in years, not since Siobhan.

"Hi," she smiled back, a warm, knowing smile.  She looked at the simple bouquet of daisies he had picked up at the florist just outside her building.  "Thank you, I do love flowers," she said quietly.  "Please, come in," she said, motioning him into the neat, modernistic apartment.  He thought he detected just the slightest hint of nervousness in her voice; it charmed him to think that this confident woman might be as nervous as he was.

She smiled as she arranged the flowers in a simple cut glass vase she procured from the cupboard.  "I don't even know your name yet, and you've already brought me flowers," she said, the obvious question in her voice.

She looked squarely at him now, folding her arms.  "I have a feeling that you know mine, though."

He smiled softly at her.  "You're Melissa," he said quietly, a gleam in his eyes.

"And you're…???" she said, looking at him with a questioning look, gesturing with her hands, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

He looked down at the polished wooden floor; he didn't know how to explain that for her protection it was best if she didn't know.  He yearned to be honest with her; wasn't that what this whole thing was really all about, he asked himself, the ability to find one person on the planet with whom he could be completely and honestly himself, but his fear came rallying back; thoughts of DeeDee and Siobhan encroached on his chaotic thoughts.

When he looked up, the look in his eyes must have told her what he could not say in words.  Her face softened.

"I like 'G-man' anyway," she said.  A mischievous sparkle crept into her eyes.  "It's sort of fun, not knowing," she said with a seductive smile and a throaty chuckle, the combination aroused him.

Her face got serious for a moment.  "I'm probably safer this way, aren't I?" she said in a matter of fact tone of voice.

He looked at her, intrigued by her ability to perfectly comprehend the situation.

"Yeah, you are," he said softly.

She turned back to the tasks she was about in the kitchen.  "I hope you like barbecue," she said, stirring something on the stove and efficiently setting about putting the simple meal together.

The kitchenette area was right near the patio door, which stood open, revealing a view of the busy, tree-lined, life-filled street below, with the rest of the ivy covered brick buildings on the street as a backdrop.  She had set the glass vase with the daisies off to one side of the small, tastefully set table.

"Have a seat," she said.  "Would you like something to drink?"

He looked at her, a quizzical look on his face.  It had been so long since someone had asked him that simple question in a friendly fashion; he was at a loss as to how to answer it.  He felt another urge to turn and run; a cynical part of him tried to point out how common this all was compared to what he was used to, what he could get wherever and whenever he wanted.

He put his hands in the pockets of his jacket then, and felt the long forgotten stone.  Siobhan's face appeared briefly, and he realized that for all the material things he could easily attain, his humanity might only be regained here.

She smiled softly, sensing his discomfort.  For all his VIP status, G-man hadn't dated very much in recent years, she decided; no doubt his current employment ruled out the concept of friends.  She had already determined that he was probably involved with the Taelons somehow, but whatever portion of his humanity remained was what interested her at this point.

"Normally I serve pop or milk with barbecue; I'm not much of a beer drinker and it seems a shame to waste a good wine on spicy meals," she said.

He smiled back, his relief obvious.  "Pop would be fine, then," he said, a more confident note returning to his voice.  Long forgotten sensibilities were returning.  "Can I help?" he asked.         

She smiled.  "No, no, just sit," she said gently.  "I've got a rhythm going here."

She produced a tray of ice and two cans of pop; diet cola and a root beer.  Sandoval grinned somewhat shyly; he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a can of root beer, not since he was a child back in the islands.  He struggled to push away the ensuing memory of the destruction wrought by Zo'Or on the one where he had been born.

He poured them each one of the sodas as she put the serving bowls with red beans and rice and the barbecue beef on the table.  A large wooden bowl of salad with a selection of half used dressings was on the counter.

She sat down across from him, a mischievous grin on her face.  "So you knew the diet cola was for me," she said with a teasing note in her voice.

He chuckled in response, returning her grin.  "Well, it's not as if you need it, but I didn't want to be greedy, although I _am_watching my figure," he said in a deadpan tone.

She giggled at his joke.  "Oh, yeah, G-man, as if you're really in need of help with your physique," she said, returning his deadpan tone; they both chuckled at this.  Her appreciative words struck another chord in his senses; Sandoval no longer thought much about his level of attractiveness to women; he simply paid for what he needed.

He hadn't heard that she was an excellent cook, but the food was wonderful, and he ate heartily.  She watched him, obviously pleased that he liked it.

"So, you like it," she said, again in a deadpan tone, as he took a large second helping.

"This is great stuff," he said enthusiastically.  Though he ate regularly in all of the best restaurants in New Province, their fare was always geared toward new and different items, and appearance; no one ever made hearty meals like this.  "Reminds me of stuff my mother used to make," he said sincerely.

She laughed.  "Well, that's always a good way to start out, being able to cook like Mom.  And I guess it's good to hear that you _had_a Mom at some point," she said, looking at him with that questioning look again.

He smiled at her now; it couldn't hurt to tell her some things about himself.  "Yeah, and a Dad, too, surprisingly enough."

She giggled, then her face turned serious.  "Not too many of my family left any more," she said softly, with a hint of pain.  "Scattered to the far corners of the planet now, it's probably safer that way," she said matter of factly.

"What about a husband?" he asked, trying to sound innocent.

She wasn't fooled.  She fixed him with a serious gaze.  "I'll bet you already know what happened to him, G-man," she said quietly.

He looked at her.  "Yes, I do," he said softly.  "I'm sorry," he added.

She was still gazing at him.  "Sorry that it happened, or sorry that you know?" she said, a hard edge creeping into her voice, her bright eyes never leaving his face.

He returned her gaze.  "Sorry that it causes you pain," he replied gently.  He wasn't prepared for the sudden moistness that appeared in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, too; that wasn't a fair question," she said thickly.

He smiled softly at her.  "It's a fair question; I do know a bit about you," he said.  "What interests me is that you seem to know that I know, yet you don't seem bothered by it," he said curiously.

"I have nothing to hide," she said, returning his smile.  "And I'm not afraid of much," she stated firmly.

He gazed at her.  "No, I don't imagine that you are," he said with a note of respect in his voice.

"What about you, G-man?  No woman ever successfully tied you down?" she said jovially.  _Or up_, a part of her wondered suddenly; she banished the inappropriate thought.

He looked at her.  "I was married once," he said quietly.  "Work sort of got in the way," he finished, smiling gently at her.

She smiled back.  "Yeah, that'll happen."  Noticing that he had finished, she stood up to clear the table.  "I hope you saved room for dessert.  Can I offer you some coffee?" she asked as she efficiently cleared away the dishes.

"Coffee sounds great.  If dessert is as good as dinner was, bring it on," he said with a smile, leaning back in the chair, relaxing.  She smiled as she finished clearing the table; as she leaned over, he noticed the gentle heave of her breasts through the top of her shirt.  The sight intrigued him; he suspected that they were very real, unlike the offerings of the ladies down at the club.

She brought the dessert plates over with the apple pie she had made earlier.  "Now, I hope you have seconds of this, too; I really don't need leftovers of this hanging around," she said firmly as she served him a large slice topped with vanilla ice cream and a steaming mug of the French roast she'd made.

Sandoval was impressed; it had been many years since he'd experienced home made anything, he realized, probably not since the early days of his and Dee Dee's marriage.  He dug in, savoring every mouthful; his senses were working overtime, relishing the peaceful feeling he was getting just sharing a simple meal with this kind, gentle woman. Up close, she really was beautiful, he thought, not just in body but in soul.

After Dee Dee, and after Siobhan died, he never thought he could feel like this again.  That Siobhan had died, saving him from that ultimate question, was little comfort knowing that he probably would have obeyed his Companion instead of his soul. Soul, he thought sardonically to himself.  It helps if you have one.

She watched him, a heartfelt sense of sympathy coming over her as she suspected he'd seen happier days.  In some ways, he seemed no better off than the homeless men she dealt with on a daily basis; at least many of them still had their dignity and self-respect.  G-man probably had little left of either, she thought understandingly.

But then again, hadn't they all seen happier days, before the Conflicts and the Great Collapse?  Before the Taelons, really?  Though, hadn't the Taelons also delivered several wonderful inventions and cures for disease to them as well?  Her instincts told her that Da'an was a benevolent and kind creature, wanting only the best for their planet and their race, but she knew that Da'an did not act alone.

It was this conundrum that kept her from taking a side in the debate; when she came across the sick children in the hospital, she was grateful for their compassion and their cures.  But when she tended to the wild-eyed homeless men, who insisted that they had seen the darker sides of the aliens, she wondered.

She herself owed her ability to function strictly as philanthropist to their generous settlement offer after the incident with the Kriss experiments; it was hush money, she knew, but in the last days of the Old Great Nation, pragmatism quickly won out over idealism.  Now she continually sought redemption for violating her principles by serving the less fortunate here in New Province.  Briefly it occurred to her that G-man was simply another opportunity for her to redeem her soul.

She sat across from this mysterious man at her table, sipping her own coffee, looking out the patio window; the summer night sun was just going down.  She smiled impishly at him.  "Hey, I want to show you something," she said excitedly.  She got up with her coffee cup and inclined her head towards the door.  "Follow me."

He dutifully got up and followed, carrying his own mug.  She led him to the stairwell and up to the rooftop; opening the door, she kicked a big rock into the doorway to keep the door from locking behind them.

At the doorway, he hesitated, looking up into the sky.  He knew that Taelon technology could track him via his CVI, if he were out on the roof with her; it could put her in danger if Zo'Or were to see.

She noticed that he had stopped, watching him scan the skies.  She smiled softly.

"Whatever demons you've got, G-man, you can't run from the sunlight forever," she said.  "Otherwise, what sort of life do you really have?" she asked him.  She put out her hand to him, as if she would guide him.

He looked at her then.  Wasn't this what he was really after?  Wasn't that what this whole adventure with her had really been all about?

Taking a deep breath, he took her strong, warm hand and walked out on to the cinder covered cement with her; there was a pair of lawn chairs and a matching patio table set in the corner of the roof, facing the west.  The sun was setting on the river, pleasantly visible just beyond the edge of Old City, the capital of New Province.  She settled herself into one of the chairs; Sandoval took the other one and set his mug on the table.

They watched the sunset until the edges of the sky got dark, enjoying their coffee.  He relaxed a bit as the dark settled in; it would be harder to detect them if anyone were trying.

She sighed deeply.  "Without a doubt, that is the best part of life," she said contentedly.  She got up from her chair.

Sandoval chuckled.  "Oh, I don't know, I'd say your cooking runs a close second," he said firmly, as he got up from his own chair.

She was standing close to him now.  "I'm really glad you liked it," she said demurely, smiling as she looked up at him.

A light summer breeze was playing her red hair around her face.  Sandoval suddenly leaned down and kissed her; her lips were soft and warm.  It had been a long time since he had kissed a woman; there was no kissing at the club, not least because patrons didn't know what other activities the ladies engaged in.

He looked at her fondly now; slowly he reached for her and kissed her again.  Her arms went around him as their kiss deepened; the feel of her strong embrace was warm and welcoming. He pulled her close; in that moment he felt as if he'd never held another woman.  She tasted wonderfully of the dark coffee they had been drinking.

They parted finally, a bit breathless, smiling almost shyly at each other, still in their embrace.  Melissa looked up at the sky and grinned.

"Take that, you demons," she said playfully.

As if on cue, his global went off.  Sandoval stepped back, startled.   Melissa looked sympathetically at him, and walked over to the door of the rooftop, leaving him to take the call in private.  He turned so Zo'or would only see the next building over and his face.

When he finished, he looked over.  The door was still propped open, but she was gone.

Coming back downstairs, he noticed that she had left the door to her apartment open for him.  As he entered, she was finishing the cleanup.

"I have to go," he said, a wistful note in his voice.

She smiled at him.  "I understand.  I'm glad you could come for dinner," she said sincerely.

Sandoval took another deep breath.  "I'd like to come again some time, if you'll have me," he said quietly.

She detected the slightest note of hesitation in his otherwise earnest voice.  She smiled warmly at him.

"Well, G-man, you know where to find me…" she said with a note of irony.  "Stop by whenever it suits you," she said with a shrug.  "But if you want dinner, you'll have to give me some advance warning; I don't cook like this every day," she said, grinning.

As she stood there, beautiful to him in ways that so many other women were not, Sandoval had a sudden thought that he'd like to discover some of her other talents, outside of the kitchen.  He pushed the thought aside; it seemed almost disrespectful with her at this moment.

He touched her face gently and kissed her again, his hand coming down to clasp hers.  He squeezed it lightly, then turned to go, pulling the door closed behind him as he left.

* * *

  


He smiled confidently as she took her place at the corner table again.  He was leaning against the car, watching her from across the square, as per his usual.  As the delicate white rose was delivered with his handwritten thank you note, signed simply "G-man," he thought that he would carry the look of sheer, childlike delight on her face to his grave.

But he wasn't prepared for the way she now looked directly across at him, as if she knew exactly where he was.  She locked eyes with him; he felt his breath catch in his throat; his smile fading at this direct response to his surreptitious surveillance of her.  Then she smiled at him, the sly, knowing smile with innocent warmth behind it; he smiled back.

* * *

  


Picking up his coffee off the counter of the deli cart, Liam Kincaid watched with disgust as Sandoval engaged in his stalker game again.  He wondered who she was this time and how long it would be before she became terrified for her life and Sandoval moved on to other prey.

He strode towards the car, preparing to deliver his standard speech about the inappropriateness of his actions when he noticed it; it stopped him in his tracks.  Sandoval was smiling; a real smile.

He looked across the square; following Sandoval's line of sight, he instantly recognized the woman.  She was in charge of the mission of New Province, and she was smiling directly at Sandoval.

Liam was taken aback; he never would have thought this hardworking, charitable woman would have any use for a man like Sandoval.  He smiled to himself; he knew well enough that she was no wilting flower, and if she had been the one he had been playing his game with most recently, Liam believed Sandoval was in for one hell of a surprise.

_Or maybe Iam,_he thought to himself, as it suddenly occurred to him that maybe they really did like each other.  The look being exchanged between them was unmistakable.  But he couldn't let on to Sandoval that he had any consideration for any remnant of humanity he might be harboring.

"She has no use for your kind, Sandoval," he said, his voice dripping with contempt.  Sandoval looked up sharply as the brooding young man approached the car.

"Y'know, Kincaid, maybe I'm just a bit more complicated than you realize," he said with an air of annoyance.  The young man was an excellent security officer, but cocky and secretive; Sandoval found himself repeatedly irritated at the realization of how much alike they were.

"Yeah, tell it to the girls at the club," Liam intoned sarcastically.  He swung open the passenger door and slid inside.  He noticed Sandoval looking over one more time, but she was head down in the paper now.

Sandoval smiled as he saw that she had put the rose behind her ear, tucked into the headband by which she held back most of her hair.  He got in the car and drove away, already thinking about when he would be able to see her again.


	2. Sandoval's Redemption, Chapter 2

If you're just tuning in, I hope you like this!! I've received some favorable feedback on this piece from some lovely people on other sites.

If you've been eagerly awaiting this piece (and I do so hope that there are some folks in that category!), I'd love to know what you think :)

Many thanks to the wonderful authors and readers who continue to encourage and inspire -- I hope you like this too! Enjoy! (I hope, I hope -- Validate me, please :)

* * *

Time passed quickly when he could see her, and slowly when he could not, Sandoval began to notice.

Some times, he was able to ask for the pleasure of her company a few days in advance, leaving a note at her apartment or at the café; she never disappointed him. On those nights, she would prepare a meal or order from one of the many small, surprisingly excellent ethnic restaurants that dotted her neighborhood.

"It's the only chance I get to do it any more; volume cooking for the mission isn't quite the same and I wouldn't bother just for myself. Besides, it's nice to do it for someone who appreciates it," she always said with a smile.

They laughed and chatted easily on these nights, content simply to be not alone. Their conversations usually drifted across the landscapes of their childhoods; he usually reminisced about life in the isles as best he could recall it, and then there were exchanges regarding college life. They both remembered a time when higher learning was still a lucrative achievement on their continent.

It amused them both that she had been something of a wild child in her day, while he had been a straitlaced, straight-A student back in the academy. It was quite a conundrum in light of their current circumstances; now he was the one with much that he did not want known about his day-to-day activities.

He learned that she had lived all over the Old Great Nation and had traveled extensively before she got married, before the Collapse; she delighted in telling detailed stories about the places she had been and the things she had seen. She occasionally mentioned brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, but these topics were still painful, in light of how it had all ended.

He could sense that she would like to know more about him, but she never pressed; she simply absorbed whatever he told her with keen interest. He could have lied, told her any kind of story he wanted, he thought, but that would have been contrary to why he was doing this, whatever "this" was, he thought ironically.

"Aren't you ever curious what it is I do?" he had asked her one night, as they sat on the roof watching the sun go down, sipping their coffee. Zo'Or had been preoccupied that evening, distractedly dismissing him from the mothership, and Sandoval had felt a bit safer engaging in this relaxing habit with her. Her building was one of the oldest in New Province, and just enough taller than the rest on the block that it easily accommodated observing without being noticed. She kept the top floor for herself and rented the rest to older folks who were fearful of the skies nowadays.

She chuckled. "What I don't know can't hurt me, G-man," she said with her usual irony. "Or anyone else for that matter," she added with a dark note to her voice; he knew she was referring to incidents that had occurred during the Conflicts.

Several members of her family had been victims of the wrath of a particularly virulent Resistance group because of her husband and the Kryss experiments; she didn't talk about it, but he knew they'd been tortured for her involvement with the Taelons, demanding information that she had never divulged.

She had gazed at him then, her face as serious as he'd ever seen it. "I was married once, remember? I know what it's like to share that much of a person, to _know_ their demons and their poisons, to _care_ what they are, forcing you to choose among the people you love. I'm not sure I'm capable of doing that again. I'm not sure I ever was."

She studied the horizon, where the river met the edge of the sky beyond the limits of New City, an almost guilty look on her face, he had thought.

"When the Kryss thing went down, I felt as if I'd been set free from a prison. Truth be told, the whole incident felt like my last chance to escape, to make the life I'd always really wanted," she had finished softly.

They sat quietly after her candid admission, letting it hang in the air between them. What he had already known about the outcome of her involvement with the Kryss experiments was one of the things that had interested him about her; it was one of the reasons why he had started watching her in the first place – he admired her cunning in using it to create a new life for herself; that she had done it seemingly without regret intrigued him further.

He knew in his heart that it was similar to the path he had taken with Dee Dee when the opportunity had presented itself for advancement in his career. He took some small measure of satisfaction in the fact that the Taelons erroneously thought they had erased all of his memories of this occurrence, though it was not a memory in which he took any particular pride – he had truly loved his wife, once.

That she and he were not so different, really, comforted Sandoval in ways he couldn't quite describe. Since his stay in the Bethesda Naval hospital and his discovery of the son he'd never known about and would probably never know he'd become increasingly determined to ensure that there remained on this planet some evidence of his existence.

He suspected that she was probably the only one left who could care about that, about him, in the way that he had begun to yearn for while he was sick, _because of the things she doesn't know about me_, he realized ruefully. But he was beginning to think Melissa could absorb his truths without rejecting him, if he were ever ready to divulge them.

She had smiled at him after a few minutes of this contemplative silence. "Besides, G-man, if you ever want me to know what goes on, you'll tell me," she said gently, in a smooth, confident voice.

His work being what it was, he occasionally had to break an arranged meeting with her; on these nights he sent flowers in his stead and another when he could actually watch her receive it, to see if he were still welcome. Her understanding nature in these matters set him at ease; that she readily accepted this arrangement relieved the shadows of guilt that threatened to traverse his mind for not telling her all that he was about.

Some times, after particularly troubling days, when he'd had to choose between what was right and what he felt was for the greater benefit of the planet, knowing that he would be judged harshly for his choices by those who could never understand them, he had simply knocked on her door; at the look on his face, she had let him in without a word and affectionately wrapped her arms around him; her welcoming embrace felt like his last link to his humanity, and on these nights he would hold her as if death itself were after him.

"Bad day with the demons, G-man?" she would ask quietly, gently rubbing his back; he would just pull her tighter in response.

She would hold him until his troubled mind had eased somewhat; in return, he never took advantage of her trust. Sandoval found it odd, but he realized that he respected her too much to take liberties with her, although it was difficult; his desire for her grew with every occasion that he passed with her. Everything about her physicality was becoming comfortably familiar and he felt an increasing sense of longing to know her better in that way. He knew that she felt the same; there was no mistaking what passed between them in their fond embraces and occasional, passionate kisses.

His deepening feelings for her became a source of annoyance to him; this game was getting complicated now. He told himself that she was the source of the complication, although she had made no demands on him of any kind; she simply accepted what he had to offer and did not ask for more. The complications were all in his head, manifestations of his own fears that he refused to acknowledge; Ronald Sandoval was not a man who knew fear, he reminded himself.

He tried staying away from her for a while. Still, he watched her; thinking he might find a crack in her display, something that would indicate her loyalties to either the Resistance or to the Taelons, something that might reveal her capacity to ultimately betray him as the others had; that would certainly have made it easier for him to forget about her, but nothing in the manner in which she conducted herself or the affairs of the New Province mission demonstrated anything of the sort.

As in private, she publicly refused to take a side in the matter of Taelon versus Earthling, preferring, as she had told him, to embrace the positive aspects of both points of view rather than pass judgment on the rightness of either.

"I don't know if I'm qualified to say who's right and who's wrong in this debate, G-man," she had said with a sigh, as they sat on the patio one night. "All I know is that humans aren't as infallible as they like to think they are and why would it be surprising to discover that the Taelons had their own secrets? Their own agenda? In recorded history as we used to know it, hadn't humans proved themselves equally capable of such deception in the misguided interest of self-preservation?"

She had leaned forward then, elbows on her knees, face in her hands, gazing at the bustle in the street below. A slow, wistful smile had made its way across her face as she watched the people going about their lives.

"Still, I'm not quite ready to give up on my own species just yet," she had said.

He tried pulling his cloak of cynicism around him again, reminding himself that she was not the kind of woman he normally favored, telling himself that her lifestyle was not one he aspired to in any way. There were plenty of attractive, young female Volunteers on his staff who gladly kept him company, though their hero worship style of affection was only a brief thrill, quickly turning into a burden; it was worthwhile only as long as they served his nefarious purposes. In the end, he despised them for blindly following his lead into the murkier aspects of what passed for morality in this day and age.

That Melissa seemed not to notice his absence also bothered him; he realized that he had secretly hoped she would miss him on some level. If she did, it wasn't obvious in the way she carried on, further invalidating his conviction that _she_ was the one complicating matters in their unusual scenario.

He would see her laughing with one of the mission's regulars or helping out some kids in the health club, or deftly beating down an executive at some firm to donate items to the mission or take one of its residents into their employ. He admired her ability to identify and explore the best things about people; she could find the weakest threads of goodness among the ones she helped, and weave them back into strong fabric. These people usually decided to serve the mission in some way as repayment for this, so it was never at a loss for resources to carry on its work. It was the type of manipulation he himself employed with the Volunteers, but without the venom of his own endeavors.

He noticed that she occasionally had company in the café in the mornings; these were Volunteer and Resistance alike. Sometimes it was someone who had managed to make a life for themselves beyond their stay at the mission; she chatted easily with whoever it would be, deeply interested in whatever they were telling her; she cared immensely about so many, he realized. He would find himself attracted to her again, enamored by her devotion to humanity, defying his own cynical thoughts.

Sometimes, it was a former lover; these were vapid, good-looking young men with empty eyes and great conviction of direction coupled with great amounts of ambition; he imagined that they were captivated by her dedication to her own cause. Sandoval vehemently denied the small tendrils of envy that would curl around his heart when they would stop to see her, with a tender kiss on the lips and big, body pressing bear hugs, the kind that are shared between two people who have been intimate.

He reminded himself that her engagement with these had stopped after he'd said hello to her. He surmised that, like his own involvement with the ladies at the club, these men had served a practical purpose and her time with each had mutually ended long before it became a complication, when both could still recall only the enjoyment of it.

During his darkest moments, he still went with Tate down to the club. In the anonymous clinch of those plastic, doll-like women, he could take out whatever frustrations he had encountered. He was afraid to show this side of himself to her; in truth, _he_ was afraid of this side of himself.

But he had inadvertently begun to imagine it was her that he was with, behind the papier-mache walls of the backrooms there; the confusion and disappointment that this fantasizing caused was usually too painful to deal with and he would squeeze his eyes shut and look away.

Since this release no longer worked as it had before he'd spoken to her, more than once after an unsatisfactory evening there, he found his way to her door, knocking quietly; she would answer with the knowing, sympathetic look and comforting embrace he had come to rely on, despite his repeated self affirmations to the contrary.

"C'mon in, G-man, sorry to see the demons have got the upper hand these days," she would say, offering him a coffee or something stronger if she felt the occasion warranted it. When the storm in his mind had calmed, she would smile, as if she sensed it.

"Feel better?" she would ask; he would just smile back at her – she knew he did. He was increasingly grateful for the way in which they could interact like this, without words; it made him feel safe.

Together they would watch the animated life in the busy street below from the patio or the living room window of her apartment, steeping themselves in the chaos of other people's every day lives, secretly relishing the sense of security and peace it gave them about their own lives. From the roof on warm nights, they would admire the lights of New City or enjoy the calm, soothing effect of the silent, swift-moving river traffic.

They punctuated their observations with commentary about what they saw; hers usually revolved around some innocently amusing moment or tiny, beautiful detail unnoticed by him; his usually centered on some violent happening or criminal activity that was occurring.

"Occupational hazard," he'd told her with a grin.

On the nights when he saw her, he spent as much time as he could, immersing himself in the comfort it gave him, until the incessant nagging of the global dictated when he needed to leave; but on the rare occasion when it didn't, he never stayed; it would have been too dangerous for her.

To an outsider, their encounters might have seemed odd, uneven, certainly dysfunctional at best, but they carried on in this sometimes way, through the summer and into the cold season, back into the days when their continent was warmed by the sun and those things that still bloomed in New Province did just that.

Yet their paths never seemed to cross in public, until that night.


	3. Sandoval's Redemption, Chapter 3

It was an event to honor Taelon and Doors International joint venture contributions to the New Province mission, in the form of improved medication for the various schizophrenic illnesses that seemed to plague many of the mission's regulars. Of course, it was held in the ballroom at Doors Center, black tie and by invitation only.

She went as the representative for the mission, though she generally detested these events; people spending a lot of money to pat themselves on the back for providing a mere pittance of what was really needed; women wearing dresses that could have paid for a week's worth of meals for the mission's residents.

She dressed simply but elegantly, in black, setting off her red hair and smooth, creamy skin, the dress was fitted in all the right places, with a hint of lace on the cleavage and bodice; accented with black silk stockings and a pair of black patent leather high heels, she turned more than one head when she entered the room. It was one of the few occasions when she opted for a tasteful smattering of cosmetics and more than 2 minutes worth of attention to her hair; she was grateful to the fashion powers that be that certain styles of leather never really got old and were not too gauche.

She was reminded of a time when she had thoroughly enjoyed this sort of play-acting; before the Conflicts, before her husband; pretending to be something you're not for the purpose of finding something you couldn't – or wouldn't – quite describe or admit to yourself with someone you would not ordinarily look twice at, who would probably not ordinarily look twice at you.

But she had long since decided that, as one matured, the fleeting amusement from that sort of game eventually gave way to the enjoyment that can be had just being oneself, and, after marriage, she had discovered that life with someone afflicted with addictions had been enough of a drama that creating one in this sort of atmosphere no longer held any appeal.

She arrived before the requisite speeches and preening; walking confidently through the room, preferring the relative quiet of the corner of the bar, where she could observe the goings on. Melissa liked being able to observe in this manner; she learned much more and made much better deals with people from a vantage point like this than she would if she were ensconced in the middle somewhere. Drunken, lecherous executives usually made generous contributions and promises; she could be quite shrewd about collecting on them for the sake of the Fugitives from Organized Society, as she preferred to call the recipients of the mission's services.

Generally, it was their own appearance that they were concerned with, and she was only useful to them for whatever escalation of them she could manage. She ordered a glass of red wine and sipped it slowly, hoping they would be content simply to promote themselves and not ask her to speak or answer questions. She had her suspicions about the long term effects of these new drugs, and the true intent of them; was it really to help the wild eyed ones regain themselves, or was it to keep them from revealing some dark truth about the Taelons, the one that they were always ranting about in their worst moments?

She chatted with the bartender, a nice looking boy with dark hair and an easy grin, learning by accident that he was Resistance when she mentioned that she worked with volunteers. He had reacted violently, the blood draining from his pleasant young face, and she had smiled softly at him.

"Sorry, not that type of Volunteer," she said quietly; "I'm in charge of the New Province mission. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," she had told him warmly, patting his hand. He had smiled with relief and replenished her glass for free.

She watched as the Taelons arrived, with their security detail in tow. As he entered with Da'An, she recognized the tall, brooding security man as Liam Kincaid; she had seen him numerous times down at the mission. She suspected he was Resistance, but she liked the gentle young man and didn't want to know; to know would be to put him in danger.

She sat up suddenly, though, when she saw him walking through the door; she had never expected to encounter G-man in public. She noticed again what an attractive man he really was; the tuxedo had obviously been tailor made for him, and the air of confidence, bordering on arrogance, that he projected was as alluring as any physical attribute she'd ever noticed, made perhaps more so by what she knew about the truth of this man.

A tall, brown haired man came in behind them; he immediately locked his eyes onto hers, with a Cheshire cat-like grin that sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. She remembered well these consequences from the many times she had played the game, years ago.

She turned uninterestedly away from the fray at the front of the large room, listening to the speeches and the click and whir of the cameras and sound bites, weighing what she heard with a cynical ear. Da'An was truly a gracious creature, and a warm sense came over her at the fondness Da'An expressed for the mission and the continuing desire to help those in need; it felt like her own.

As the requisite pleasantries subsided, she looked back at the gathering again, a slow smile coming across her face as she watched G-man work. She reveled in the irony of this; _she_ was watching him for a change. It was the type of observation that was made even more satisfying because of the little secrets that you knew about someone; like the fact that he preferred dark French roast coffee to Italian roast, or the way he would sigh, his whole body relaxing once the elusive, undefined demons that plagued him had finally lost their hold after a bad day.

She tried not to notice the tall, brown haired man who was with him, as he locked his eyes onto her again, as if she were his prey. She saw him lean down and say something to G-man, then make a beeline for the bar.

She turned to the bartender. "Okay, here we go," she said with a grimace. "Watch yourself with this one," she added with a warning tone.

The bartender smiled knowingly at her.

* * *

"Hey boss, excuse me for one second, will ya?" Tate muttered to Sandoval, his eyes never leaving the sight of the redhead at the bar.

Sandoval could tell by his voice that this involved a woman; he ignored it. "Don't go far, Tate; you may yet prove useful here," he said, with his usual contempt. Tate was like a big dumb dog without the dog's loyalty, Sandoval thought to himself, but he occasionally served his purposes.

The only truly redeeming thing about Tate was that every spare cent he had went to his sister who, Sandoval knew, was attending college somewhere on the other side of the world where higher learning was still revered. He could know more about this if he truly wanted to, but Tate protected everything about her as well as he himself protected his secret about Melissa; besides, he would gain nothing from pursuing the matter.

"Hi," the brown-haired man said casually, in a lounge lizard style, Melissa thought, as he leaned against the bar right next to her. The strong smell of his inexpensive aftershave wafted towards her now; she exchanged a glance with the bartender. "Come here often?" he asked.

"Not very," she answered.

Unfazed by her attempt at curtness, Tate signaled the bartender. "Barkeep, another drink for the lady, on me," he said, tapping the bar impatiently with his forefinger.

"Cash up front," the bartender replied coolly; Melissa grinned.

Frank Tate looked at him, tempted to argue his importance, but he thought better of it and pulled out his wallet, handing the young man a ten dollar bill. The bartender pocketed the bill and went to get the wine.

"So, what's a pretty lady like you doing in a place like this, anyway?" Tate persisted.

The bartender handed her the glass with a sympathetic smile.

Melissa turned to him now; this was her favorite part of the game. She leaned on the bar so the brown-haired man would have an unobstructed view of the plunging neckline of her dress, her shapely legs crossed at the knee as she smiled seductively at him.

"I run the New Province mission," she said in a sultry tone, looking directly at him.

The combination of her come-on body language and Mother Theresa-esque job description proved too great a conundrum for Frank; he physically took a step back from her, his mouth dropping open. The bartender stifled a giggle.

"Wow, that's pretty amazing," he said, not able to take his eyes off her chest now.

She casually crossed her arms in front of her then; it broke his concentration and caused him to look up at her. The bartender let loose with another giggle.

* * *

Across the room, Sandoval glanced around for Tate; Zo'Or had demanded to know more about one of the nosier journalists at the event; a task tailor made for Frank Tate, he thought to himself.

That was when he noticed her at the bar with him. He knew Tate had gone off in pursuit of a woman; little did he know it would be her.

He gazed at her for a moment; in all the time he had been watching her, spending time with her, he had never seen her dressed like this. _She is truly stunning_, he thought. Her graceful appearance did not indicate so much the sophistication of money, that wouldn't have been her style, but rather the powerful allure of self-confidence and disregard for convention.

He chided himself for not noticing her before Tate had, then he reminded himself that his first duty was to protect Zo'Or, a fact that Tate easily forgot in the presence of women.

He watched for a moment as Melissa played his hapless assistant, feeling inadvertently aroused as she leaned forward, grinning conspiratorially as she interrupted Tate's lewd staring with the crossing of her arms.

He strode purposefully over to the bar.

"Tate, I told you that you might prove yourself useful tonight; I need you to find out more about that journalist Joe, from the Sun," he said in his commanding voice.

Frank looked at him wretchedly. "Right now, Boss?" he asked plaintively.

Sandoval sighed contemptuously. "No, ten minutes ago; yes, right now!" he said sharply.

Frank looked at him helplessly, recognizing yet another time when the Boss was looking to encroach on his territory. But the Boss was the Boss, and Frank decided that winning this match wasn't as useful as staying on Sandoval's good side; besides, she was more of a challenge than kissing ass. He wasn't even sure he really liked women; he just felt compelled to play the game, laboring under the societal delusion that his manhood was defined by it, and he didn't like losing. He turned back to Melissa.

"I'll be back."

She waited until Tate was out of earshot before muttering under her breath "don't hurry." The bartender chuckled.

Looking up now, she was pleasantly surprised to see that G-man had stepped into the brown haired man's place at the bar, and with an authoritative grin at the bartender he said, "If it suits the lady, I'd like to buy her another glass of wine," as he put a ten dollar bill on the bar.

The bartender dutifully poured another glass for her, grinning knowingly at Melissa; _she is really working this gig,_ he thought, grateful for the large tips it meant for him.

She winked at the bartender before turning to Sandoval, raising her glass. "Thanks, G-man," she said affably.

"My pleasure," he intoned; with a sensual note in his voice and a look in his eyes that sent an electric current racing up her spine.

"And thanks for the rescue," she said sincerely. Melissa smiled at him now, almost seductively, he thought.

"Oh, well now, you really can't blame the poor man for trying, can you?" he said in a jovial tone.

He smiled at her, a sexy, sultry smile, as if he had an intimate secret about her that she herself didn't know; at the sight, she was pretty sure her heart skipped at least one beat. He leaned slowly, jauntily across the bar then, casually coming down towards her as if he were reaching for something underneath her.

"You look incredible," he said softly, sending a shiver through her as she felt his warm breath on her ear.

He nonchalantly moved back, turning away from her to the rest of the room, letting his hand drape casually across her crossed leg as he did so, resting his fingers ever so slightly on top of her knee; another electric jolt went through her. Though they had engaged in the occasional, passionate kiss and frequent, warm embraces, their private interactions had progressed slowly, cautiously, developing from a sincere fondness for each other and a mutual respect born out of their unusual friendship. These feelings that they held covetously secret from the rest of the world around them somehow made this more pointed, public flirtation even more titillating.

Sandoval turned briefly back to the bar.

"May I see you tonight?" he asked under his breath, in a sensual tone.

_It seems 'the time' is finally 'right', _she thought, mentally making note of the fact that a little makeup and a black dress still went a long way with a man. She smiled without looking at him.

"If you're able to, G-man," she said quietly, in her usual matter of fact tone.

She looked directly at him now, he knew exactly what she meant and he was suddenly, incredibly grateful for it, shattering all of his previous attempts to downplay the depth of his feelings for her.

* * *

From across the room, in his sentry position, eyeing the room for threats, Liam Kincaid watched the whole thing unfolding, amused. The clandestine way in which Sandoval whispered in her ear and touched her knee did not go unnoticed by Liam's keen senses, but it was their body language that made him sit back and think: they were _both_ enjoying this, he realized; she as much as he. Unlike other incidents of this nature he had witnessed with Sandoval, she seemed as confidently engaged in the conspiracy as he was.

Although it still surprised him that this seemingly gentle woman could take a liking to a man like Sandoval, he knew she had her demons, too. He remembered her from a time long ago, as he had wandered the alleys of New Province with Jonathan Doors discussing Resistance activities. He had seen her working with some of the more downtrodden residents; he had been intrigued by how nice she was to them – sincerely nice.

"Well, she knows that, there, but for the grace of Doors International…." Jonathan Doors had muttered in a cynical tone of voice.

Liam had looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?" He was always a bit wary with Jonathan Doors; the truth of his allegiances had not always been clear.

Jonathan had explained to him how Doors International had initially embraced the Kryss experiments; he was an enterprising businessman and this seemed a sure fire hit; a way to beat addictions of any kind, like alcoholism and cigarettes, not to mention drugs. It was touted as "the methadone for everything else" in the promotional literature. During the final days of the Old Great Nation, the citizens had become used to having everything conveniently fixed via little pills; they had little pills for everything. Many theories had arisen as to this trend being one of the keys to their downfall.

His company, Doors International, had pioneered this crusade to create the easiest way to forget your troubles. Until Jonathan had had his "come to Jesus" incident, as he called it, he, too, would have thought that the Taelon's arrival was simply another convenient factor contributing to this "easy life" attitude; certainly _he_ had profited from it.

But then, the Kryss experiments had gone horribly wrong; many young people had died in the production of the drug and from its effects. Ultimately, it turned out to be no better than whatever the person had originally been addicted to, not to mention the slave-like conditions under which the drug's producers had been kept, as Liam knew only too well.

It had been a big black eye for Doors International and the Taelons alike; they had offered the victims quite a large amount of money as compensation for their pain – another fashion that had contributed to the destruction of the Old Great Nation; easy money to compensate people for whatever their ills may be, perceived or otherwise. Frivolous lawsuits had ultimately crumbled the government and the economy and led to the Great Collapse; only the multinational corporations had survived, naturally stepping into their groomed role as the new governing body for the remnants of the shattered society, letting the Conflicts run their course to clean it all up and rid the land of the undesirables.

"We offered them a lump sum, to be distributed among the survivors of those who took part in the experiments. Most of them felt so guilty about their own encouragement of the project that they wouldn't take it, as if _they_ were somehow responsible for the deaths of their loved ones. She, in fact, had told her husband that she would leave him if he did _not_ take the Kryss," Jonathan had explained. "I suppose the hell of living with an addict could drive a person to do a lot more than issue ultimatums, and divorces back then were never kind to women," he stated in a matter of fact tone of voice. Then he gave a disgusted sigh.

"In the end, she was the only one who would accept the settlement; and she demanded the entire lump sum. The rest of them just walked away," Doors had said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. A puzzled look had crossed his countenance then as he continued the story.

"But the kicker was, before the settlement meeting, I walked up to her and offered her my condolences for the untimely loss of her husband. She gave me a long stare and said 'Sometimes, Mr. Doors, an unfortunate accident can be a desperate woman's last hope.'"

Liam remembered being mildly amused at this part of the story. It seemed she was as enterprising as Jonathan was; she had played him like a lucky hand in a game of cards.

Doors had paused at this point, as if he was still wondering what exactly she had meant by this. "She insisted that we put the settlement in the currency of the New Province." He added this detail with a sense of respect; he had understood her angle then: she was going to get out while she still could, before the inevitable Conflicts had begun.

"But still," Liam had persisted, "it looks as if she's put the money to good use."

"Probably looking for some sort of redemption," Doors had said with a shrug, as he had watched her ladle soup with a smile to a man with a particularly foul appearance. Redemption was another concept Jonathan Doors understood all too well.

Liam watched the two people at the bar for another minute; momentarily pondering what brought human beings together. Maybe they were both seeking some measure of redemption; maybe they would find it together.

He saw Sandoval turn away from the bar, with a briefly contented look on his face that Liam knew he would never let anyone else see. He smiled at this thought, and tucked it away with the other secrets he had about this man whose DNA he shared.

"What are you smiling at?" Renee asked, with her usual mix of slight sarcasm and suspicion at seeing a smile on his face.

"Humanity continues to surprise me, in the most wonderful ways," he said distractedly. She followed his line of sight; he shifted his gaze away quickly, wanting to keep this secret from her for some reason he could not quite identify. _She doesn't understand_, he thought to himself; _she can't_.

Mixed into this thought pattern was some of the same old twinge of guilt that he could not rid himself of regarding Sandoval; he still woke up sometimes, wondering what had happened to Erica Vosser, wondering if he'd really done the right thing convincing Sandoval she had betrayed him.

"Sandy up to his old tricks again?" Renee asked, with the usual scorn in her voice, narrowing her eyes as she watched the International Security Director speaking surreptitiously to Zo'Or. She had long ago stopped trying to hide her disdain for the man.

"Even an old dog can learn new tricks, right?"

Renee recognized the tone of voice and his vagueness as the devices Liam employed when he was deliberately trying to lead her away from some thought he didn't want her to know about. She eyed him critically, wondering if it was worth pursuing, deciding against it. His feelings about the human race, she appreciated; his continuing desire to include Sandoval in that were beyond her, she reminded herself.


End file.
